


Fragile

by hamstercheese7



Category: One Piece
Genre: Drama, Dreams, Loving someone even after it is over, M/M, Past, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25353682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamstercheese7/pseuds/hamstercheese7
Summary: Magma and ice are diametrically opposed but together they can make something stunning. Unfortunately, beauty is but an instance in time.
Relationships: Akainu | Sakazuki/Aokiji | Kuzan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Fragile

Power is destructive in all its forms. Kuzan stood on the edge of the steaming, burning beach, the molten earth shifting slowly, viscously, like a chest rising and falling. He can almost feel it, the heat ripping, the smell of burning flesh. 

Turning, he follows the flow back up the beach, towards the tree line, the palms swaying in the breeze. On the magma snaked, over the rocks and embankments, vegetation crisp and burnt, the smoke from the fires that were now spreading through the lush plant life hovered close to the ground, in Kuzan’s mouth, in his eyes. The taste of ash, woodsmoke and gritty, like a cigar that burns down too low hit the back of his throat, and he almost coughs before taking a deeper breath, letting it fill his lungs.

In time, he comes to the start of the amber river. Magma flowing like syrup over the cliff side, a waterfall of molten earth, metal, rock, and blazing heat. Kuzan is unable to see him through the haze of super-heated air, but he could sense him. His heartbeat pulsing in the afterimage behind Kuzan’s eyelids. 

He jumps, up, up, up, the ground and smoke becoming small below him, the heat turning his ice to steam as it falls back to earth. 

He lands, feet silent on the dusky damp earth. The fires have not reached here, may never reach here. Kuzan’s dark eyes blur out the vines and elephant leaves, the hanging branches and curling, snaking bramble to focus on the object of his search. “Sakazuki,” his voice is smooth, neutral, like a river sliding through savannah. It almost seems to echo. 

Yet still, he sees the man nearly flinch, his broad shoulders tightening. The way the air goes quiet, loses the rhythm of the wind. He’s been up here since dawn, practicing, trying to contain and control this new part of himself. 

Kuzan approaches slowly, calmly, eyes on Sakazuki’s broad back. There is only them here. This island has no others. Only the humid earth and vivacious greenery, the sky high above a virulent blue turning to livid purple and fanatical orange, the ever constant sea slowly gliding against the beaches. The bottle of whiskey in Kuzan’s hand is cold, condensation coating the surface. 

He takes a seat on the bare rock next to the other man, almost shoulder to shoulder, folding his long legs under him. The vista spread below the cliff is hazy with smoke, the flames from the burning flora blur everything together, obscuring the edges of the island except for the river of bright magma like a dividing line on a paper map. 

Kuzan pops the whiskey bottle open, the sound too boisterous to his ears. He waits for Sakazuki to speak, knows he will if given enough time. The man may love silence, but never enough to outlast Kuzan’s presence. It comes slowly, his voice a rumble, like something is moving down a mountainside far in the distance. “It is too easy.” Kuzan arches an eyebrow. 

Sakazuki raises his hand and gestures outward at the land below their perch. “There...is nothing to stop the spread,” he almost whispers. There is awe in his voice, and something else, perhaps it sounds like reverence to Sakazuki’s ears, but to Kuzan… the destruction, the spreading fires, the terror of the animal life, it sounds like fear. He takes another swig of the whiskey, letting it burn slowly down his throat. 

Sakazuki pulls his fist back into his chest, gazing at his palm before slowly immolating his hand to magma, the bright flare of heat and light illuminating their faces. Sakzuki’s eyes narrow slightly as he forms a ball of magma, letting it revolve in place. It oozes and drips down, scouring the stone between them, but Kuzan doesn’t flinch. 

He lifts his own hand, palm down over the top of Sakazuki’s, almost touching. Steam envelops them, warm and damp, the sudden changing air current making their hair ripple in the breeze. The flare from the magma fades slowly, until it disappears. As the air settles, Kuzan shifts his attention to the panorama below them, his pupils dilating as ice blooms across the landscape, steam erupting where it meets along the seam of magma, the dark haze of smoke turning white and fading as he quenches the fires.

He turns back to look at Sakazuki, bringing his hand down to his side. Sakazuki isn’t looking out at the island below them, but instead at what is resting gently in his palm. What was once boiling molten rock, now sits a glass flower, their powers meshing and intertwining in just the right circumstances to create something delicate, beautiful. 

“Nothing except me,” Kuzan’s voice is low in the dying light of the sun. Sakazuki gradually looks up from the flower in his hand, meeting his gaze. The orange and pinks of the sky reflect off their depths like tiny embers. Kuzan stiffens, enraptured by the sight, the softness around his eyes, the way breath catches in the hollow of Sakazuki’s throat. 

It was natural, so natural that he would gravitate to him, be pulled in by the heat, by the perfect coupling of their souls. They meet in the middle, lips connecting, not clashing, beauty fragile in the making-

Kuzan’s eyes flare open, pain lancing though his shoulder so sharply he can’t breath. It takes him a few moments, his jaw clenched until the spasm fades. It’s twilight, the stars beginning to come out, their light cold and distant. 

He breathes out for a moment, rubbing a gloved hand over his eyes before reopening them and sitting up. The rock he is perched on overlooks the island below. Something glints in his vision and he spots the half finished glass bottle of whiskey. He picks it up, the amber liquid near black in the darkness. 

His knee twinges and he looks out over the vista. The vegetation has reclaimed the island at last, the scars hidden below the foliage, unlike his own. 

He looks at the glass bottle again before hurling it over the edge to shatter on the earth below.

**Author's Note:**

> Lava and ice combine to make glass or obsidian. I think that's heartbreaking when considering these two. I wanted the dream/past event to feel vibrant and saturated so I had some fun with vocabulary. Was it too much?
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and you can find me on twitter @buggyisbest


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